


Old Wants

by GhostHost



Series: Tis the Season [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Conjux ritual, Drift is freaking out, Holidays, Perceptor is a mastergrade matchmaker, Secret Santa, courting, roddy and percy are tired of Drifts shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:44:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Summary: Drift wasn’t entirely certain how he’d been talked into this. He knew Ratchet was even less certain, the two of them having spoken about it as they sat next to each other at the bar, waiting for the festivities to start.“Got guilted into it.” The medic finally confided in Drift, though he refused to say who by.“Same.” Drift had sighed.“If I have to suffer so do you.” Perceptor, who had been forcibly placed in charge of the Secret Santa Exchange, had snarled.Which is of course, how Drift gets matched with Ratchet. Because he’d been looking for an excuse, and Perceptor knew it.





	Old Wants

**Author's Note:**

> The most re-done of all of Holidaze! Half of this is actually new material, and of course this is the last one I finished (despite it being the third in the series) because Drift is just being A Shit right now. 
> 
> Oh there's like four million ways to do Secret Santa, I just had Swerve do a general one where you pull a name and then surprise someone with a gift later. I've participated in like, four other versions of it and just decided to do that instead, with the option (as you see in the other fics in the series) to stay anonymous instead. 
> 
> Idk usually I do warnings but they're really aren't any in these? If you want one throw me a line, I'll add it.

Drift wasn’t entirely certain how he’d been talked into this. He knew Ratchet was even less certain, the two of them having spoken about it as they sat next to each other at the bar, waiting for the festivities to start.

“Got guilted into it.” The medic finally confided in Drift, though he refused to say who by. 

“Same.” Drift had sighed. 

_ “If I have to suffer so do you.”  _ Perceptor, who had been forcibly placed in charge of the Secret Santa Exchange, had snarled. Rodimus had thought Swerve’s entire “Let’s Celebrate The Human Winter Holidays” idea was fantastic, and was offended by the mere idea that Drift not participate. Between his two best friends, Drifts own chances at escaping the mess had shrunken down to zero. 

But if Ratchet had been guilted into it...well, that gave the speedster a few excuses to hang out with the medic, didn’t it? Especially considering he’d entirely run out of them, and Ratchet was catching on to the fact that Rodimus and Perceptor both might have been injuring Drift on purpose to give him reasons to visit the medbay.

(Drift had had one hell of a reputation when he’d served under the Decepticons. A reputation that was the exact opposite of the complete and utter accident-prone klutz he’d recently been portraying. Nevermind the fact that the whole idea seemed less sly and more cringe-worthy the longer it went on.)

The kick-off for the week-long celebration was to start tonight, henceforth why everyone who could was gathered here. Only a handful of mechs off duty were missing, no doubt hiding out at Visages. Mirage had announced it as a “Anti-Madness Zone”  with a permanent ban on all holiday decor two days ago, much to Sunstreaker and Ravage’s relief. 

Drift had spent all afternoon wishing he could escape there too, instead of having to help supervise putting up decorations in the bar. But now with Ratchet here and things finally starting--well, he at least could talk to the mech some more right? It’d been so easy when they were bitching about their current situation but they’d done that to death. Drift wasn’t going to let the conversation die though! 

“Hey,” He started, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. Primus why was this so hard?! He and Ratchet were friends  _ already, _ a conversation shouldn’t be this hard!  “Do you think-”

The lights abruptly dimmed, cutting him off entirely. A spotlight flared to life, shining on the back door of the bar as it slide aside. More lights-little green and red lasers, danced to life,  revealing Swerve.

Drift knew something of humans, having known Verity, but had never studied their particular traditions. Thus, the Santa suit Swerve wore, crafted entirely by the small mechs own hand, and his delightful (if a little raggedy) white beard was entirely lost on the ex-con.    


It was not lost on Ratchet, whose pained groan was covered by the crowd’s cheer. 

“Mechs, matching day is here!” Swerve bellowed. “And with it, the start of our very own holiday celebrations! Grab a drink, select a snack, and gather ‘round the tree!  _ Ho-ho-ho!” _

“Primus.” Ratchet muttered under his breath. He watched the crowd of mechs--enough to pack out the bar and then some, attempt to gather around the contraption Swerve was calling a tree. The CMO finished his drink by chugging it, and Drift quickly followed suit, feeling the despair kick up a little at the sheer amount of craziness in the air. 

They both stayed where they were, seated happily at the bar, but it took no time at all for a gaudily decorated datapad to make its way to them. 

Drift knew Perceptor had been also been guilted into this. He could see the mech, in the very back of the bar, nursing Swerve’s equivalent of mid-grade with a look of discomfort matched only by the group of mechs next to him (Chromedome, Skids and Cyclonus-- an odd choice of companionship for the scientist, but it was Drift’s understanding that they’d all temporarily found some sort of relief in one another. Drift figured he’d end up joining them later. Might even try to convince Ratchet to go with him too.)

He’d also heard enough complaints from the scientist to know Perceptor was in charge, completely and totally, for the main event of this evening. Which meant he knew  _ immediately  _ what happened when the datapad flashed and displayed Ratchet’s name. 

No wonder the scientist had insisted he come tonight.

“Ah--pardon me.” He said to Ratchet, after staring down at said mechs name for a number of minutes. Ratchet’s grunted reply of “Sure kid” went entirely unheard.

Drift stared ahead as he passed on the datapad, kept staring as the crowds parted to let him through and had practically burnt holes in Perceptor's head by the time he made it to the scientists side.

“You did this.” He said, in a growl that caused most the mechs near Percy to flee. “You did this  _ on purpose. _ ” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Perceptor said, utterly unruffled by Drift’s general tone--of voice and field. 

Drift’s optics narrowed as his field tapped Perceptor’s smug one. “Yes you did!  _ Dammit  _ Percy he has my name too, doesn’t he?” Panic was not taking hold, it absolutely wasn’t! 

Perceptor allowed a victorious smile, albeit a small one, to show on his face. “You said you wanted a way to figure out if he was interested in you romantically. Well, He gestured at the piece of paper, uncaring of Drift’s growing sense of doom. “There you go.”

“What do I even get him to  _ show  _ that!?” Drift absolutely did not wail and most everyone else feared him enough to let him believe it. 

Percy unfortunately, ranked as one of the few exceptions. 

“Dunno.” He said, field still smug. “Better stalk him and find out.” 

Drift just stared at him, dumbfounded. Stalk? Presents? 

_ For Ratchet!? _

Primus, was he _ screwed!  _

xXx  
  


“I am recharging in your room.” Ratchet announced, storming into Drift’s habsuite a handful of days later. The warrior watched him wide-opticked, hand on his sword and body tense before something in his processor clicked and let him recognize his friend. (as well as remember the fact he had given Ratchet the code to his hab. “In case you need a quiet place to crash.” Had been the explanation, after the CMO had complained heartily about how mechs couldn’t define a professional and personal boundary if it smacked them in the face.

Of course, that was before Drift had realized that Ratchet  _ also  _ couldn't define that boundary, and  was a worse workaholic than the rumors had implied. Not that it mattered. The offer had stood, with Drift mentioning he himself wasn’t often in his hab and it wouldn’t be a problem if Ratchet wanted to get some recharge there. The medic had accepted it, albeit looking back he might have thought it was a joke and-

Ugh, what he was he thinking, none of that mattered now!)

“Hope you don’t mind,” Ratchet said heading straight for the couch, headless of the danger he’d been in. (And who just crashed in on a warrior? Particularly an ex-con berserker!? Ratchet  _ knew _ better--Drift had heard the mech tear people a new one for doing the exact same thing!)  and dropping upon it. His vents heaved a great sigh, fluttering and heedless of whether or not Drift was going to protest his presence. 

“Blaster has decided he is going to DJ for one of the holiday parties. He is currently testing mixes.”  He continued, leaning his head back. 

“Okay.” Drift said because what else was he supposed to say to that? 

“He lives in the habsuite above mine,” Ratchet explained, optics shuttering closed. “And he’s been testing mixes for three days.” 

_ Oh. _

Well that explained it all. Blaster was a mech who had a bad habit of getting obsessive, especially over his music. No doubt he’d been blaring it loud to make sure it was heard correctly at “club levels”-and Ratchet probably hadn’t slept. At all.

Yeah. 

That made a lot more sense.

World-view back in line, Drift allowed himself to relax, padding silently towards the couch and letting himself sit on the opposite end.

“Decided to find some quiet here huh?” Drift said it with a gentle smile, given only because Ratchet couldn’t see it. 

“Yes. I’d ask if you don’t mind, but I don’t care.” Ratchet’s tone was playful. Teasing, even if he was tired. They had a history now that allowed that kind of banter--allowed this kind of intrusion. 

It warmed the cold thing Drift called a spark a bit. 

“I gave you the codes for a reason.” Drift said, and settled back into the couch himself. He would have left it there, now that he could feel the medic’s field--and the tiredness that sat there. Wanted to give him the peace the poor mech deserved--because how long had it taken Ratchet to admit defeat? How long had he suffered a sleepless night before giving in? Knowing him, the exhaustion had been there longer than three days.

So really. Drift should just leave him alone. Either leave or meditate.

But first...

“Do you know what you’re gonna get your giftee? For the secret santa?” 

Drift needed ideas. 

He felt a little guilty asking, and definitely guilty bothering, even if it was _ his  _ hab, but he was at his wits end. He didn’t know what to get the mech before him, the one he wanted to impress above all others. He didn’t know how to approach his own feelings, or the fact that he and Ratchet had been dancing around one another for a stupidly long time.

He had Ratchet now though, along with his undivided attention. He could use that. 

“Yeah. Had something for a while, figured it’d be a good time to give it to him.” Ratchet grunted. Which caused an entirely new wave of panic because holy fuck, Ratchet had planned something in advance!? For him!?

“Lucky you. You can help with mine then, I don’t really know what he likes.” Drift said it playfully, careful to keep his internal panic out of his face and field. 

“Who’d you get?” Ratchet asked, still happily reclined. Drift was careful to tap his field, subtly checking to make sure he wasn’t angering the CMO, even if he did need help--but nope, Ratchet seemed content to talk. 

“I’m cant say. Perceptor has sworn me to secrecy. I’m supposed to be an example or some slag, If I tell my, head’s his.” Drift lied. “But I can give you the personality profile. He’s a workaholic, is mostly minimalistic, but does indulge in some comforts--except he has everything he wants.” That wasn’t too obvious was it? Pit, it was. _  
_

_ ‘Quick-make something up-!’ _

Ratchet beat him to it. “Hard case. You can never go wrong with more high grade.” He said, optics still closed. 

“Yeah.” Drift admitted, “but it’s an easy way out. I want it to be a bit...more, you know?”

Ratchet made a dismissive noise. “Don’t put too much effort into it. It’s meant to be fun not worrisome. Not,” This, muttered under his breath, “-that this is fun.” 

“I know.” Drift said. _ ‘I just need this to be perfect.’  _ “Got any other ideas?”

“Would need a better profile.” 

“Yeah.” Drift sighed. “I thought you might say that.” 

Ratchet snorted, blindly leaning over to slap at Drift’s knee. “You’ll get it kid, don’t worry.” He said, and the tiredness was starting to creep into his voice, his systems beginning the start of powering down. 

“Thanks.” The ex-con said. The conversation was a dead end, but he wouldn’t push anymore. Not when Ratchet so clearly needed the recharge. Ratchet was right. He’d think of something.

He hoped. 

(And Drift, caught up too much in his own worry, his own need for perfection, didn’t realize what a gift that was. That Ratchet, notorious workaholic and a mech many assumed other-worldly for his ability to never recharge ever, did so, right in front of Drift. In his habsuite no less.

Sometimes that’s how these things go. )  
  
  
  


xXx  
  


“If you worry any harder you’ll make yourself purge.” Perceptor warned, as Drift tried not to hyperventilate next to him. 

Rodimus had ditched him once the scientist had arrived, with a hug and a promise that they’d “do shots afterwords!” no matter how things went.

Drift would hold the abandonment against him, but they both knew Perceptor was actually the better comforter of the three. 

“What if it’s not good enough?” Drift said, clutching Ratchet’s gift to his chest. “What if he says no?”

“Then you’ll do shots with Rodimus and find me after.” Perceptor said calmly. “We’ll discuss Ratchet’s other poor life decisions while beating Rodimus’s  _ Rockband  _ score.” 

Drift huffed a laugh--Rodimus was insane about maintaining his score, and Drift had only discovered Perceptor was good at the game by accident, when begging the mech to practice in secret with him. 

“Thanks.” He said, forcing himself to calm down. Forcing himself to focus his nervous energy into something positive--and be grateful for what he had. 

Perceptor waved it off, and Drift remaining moments waiting for the event to start thinking over how different his life was. Where he’d been--and where he’d ended up. How people like Rodimus and Perceptor tolerated him, loved him, even, and how he had a possibility to be in love with someone.

Things he never thought he’d get to have, get to do. Not in Dead End. Not in the Decepticons.

“Thanks.” He repeated. “For everything.”

  
  


xXx

 

Ratchet had given him a perfect gift because of course he had. 

Drift had stared at it in awe, the crystals casting beams of light across his chassis.  

An old pocket knife had been carefully crystallized--turning the weapon into a beautiful work of art. Crystallizing was a formerly popular hobby on Cybertron--something Drift had always been interested in, but had never had the status--or later, time--to learn. 

“Thank you.” He said, fighting to keep his voice clear. 

Ratchet grunted in response, but didn’t try to hide his smile. 

Drift admired it for a moment longer, before setting it aside. He took a vent, than another, then pulled out the gift he was to give.

It was now, or never.

“Ratchet.” Drift said, triggering the ritual as he handed the package over, “with this gift, I ask, for the right of courtship. Should you-”

“Yes.”

“-accept my request-” 

“I said yes.”

“To being my conjux?” Drift said, completely thrown off course. Ratchet hadn’t  _ even opened the package yet! _

“Did you space out?” Ratchet said teasingly. “Yes.”

“I just expected you to fight me more.” A lot, actually, Drift was fairly certain Ratchet would have been horribly opposed to their pairing, if nothing more than on the grounds that they were both dedicated entirely to their work. Nevermind Ratchet’s opinions on Drift’s religious beliefs or the fact he’d fragging  _ killed  _ hundreds of the older mechs friends. 

Pit, he’d have to 

“Friend of mine set me straight recently. Made me rethink some things. And he was right. You and I will have to work for it--and work hard, to make a relationship work. But at the end of the day the thing I am working for is to keep mechs alive long enough to survive the war. My work is never done, but I should get some happiness out of all this too.”

Drift could only gape, faceplates working. “Remind me to thank your friend sometime.” He finally got out. 

“You can thank him yourself, he’s boarding the Lost Light at our next stop. Something about checking to insure our Co-Captain's are Co-Existing.” Ratchet said, turning beaming optics from Drift down to the gift he was carefully opening.

“Okay.” Drift said, stunned and starstruck all at once, simply because  _ Ratchet had said yes.  _

It wasn’t until much, much later that his processor caught up to him. Drift was TIC. He knew who was boarding the LL. And the only mech scheduled was-

Optimus Prime.

Ratchet’s friend, who’d apparently spent a good deal of time encouraging the medic’s relationship with Drift and-and-

“Frag me.” He whispered in horror. 

“I just did.” Ratchet grumbled in his shoulder, arms tugging the mech who had been sleeping next to him closer. “But I could go again.” 


End file.
